Tag: Soup

It’s ‘Chicken Soup for the Soul Day’ so let’s serve a bowl of therapy for the body and spirit. This soup is the traditional ‘go to’ when nursing the common cold, but it’s also a protective food that can ward off the evil eye. Legend speculates that chicken soup can protect from negative energies created by angry, irrational people. In fact, even mainstream medical science supports its protective benefits. Chicken soup contains several nutrients that stimulate and strengthen the immune system while cleansing your aura, especially if you’ve been exposed to someone else’s negativity. Eating protein-rich foods like chicken, fish, eggs and dairy can help one feel more grounded and balanced and better connected to our bodies and to the earth around us. So the next time you settle in with a good book, why not have a big bowl of self-nurturing to go with it? But if soup just doesn’t cut it when dealing with negative people, then this recipe might. Write the offending person’s name in green ink on white paper. Fold that paper in four and put it in a glass, lidded jar. Pour enough honey over the paper to cover it and then tightly seal the jar. Place a small white candle either atop or immediately alongside the jar and then each day for nine days straight light the candle while sending healing and forgiveness to that person. On the ninth day allow the candle to burn completely out while disposing of the sealed jar anywhere outside your living space. Sweet and sour, just like Chinese chicken soup for the soul!

If you need to banish something from your life, prepare a pot of soup.
Draw a banishing pentagram in the soup, then stir nine times counterclockwise, saying:
“Blessed Lord, gracious Lady, hear my plea.
Remove (insert what needs removal) from me.
For the good of all, with harm to none;
once this is eaten, the spell is done!” Eat the soup.

Good Sunday Morning/Afternoon, my dear friends! How are you doing today? I hope well. It has cooled off a little here. I guess that is why I got the wild hair this morning. I have worked my poor fingers to the bones. First I when outside and cleaned out the cages of the wolf and two baby foxes. I scooped poop, put down new hay, watered, fed and a big “NO, NO” played with them. I know I shouldn’t but they are so cute. After playtime, I mean working outside, I came in an started on the house.

You know when you have all your doors and windows open, you can really see the dust, Lordie Help! I drug out the Pledge, the Sniffer and the Glass Cleaner and when to town. I even have one of those things you roll on your furniture to pick up animal air (not like the Sticky Buddy sold on TV at all). Then after I got that done, I put on a big pot of white beans. My plans for supper is white beans and cornbread fritters, Yum! Oh, yeah, we can’t for get the onion. What’s beans without an onion, I mean really? Well after all I have been into this morning, I am running extremely late.So I will wish you a very Blessed and relaxed day and be on my way.

BANISHMENT STIRRING SPELL

If you need to banish something from your life, prepare a pot of soup.
Draw a banishing pentagram in the soup, then stir nine times counterclockwise, saying:
“Blessed Lord, gracious Lady, hear my plea.
Remove (insert what needs removal) from me.
For the good of all, with harm to none;
once this is eaten, the spell is done!” Eat the soup.

The Long Road Home

As I arrive home from college for the first time, I realize many things have changed—in my family and in myself.

BY: Lia Gay

I find myself packing again. Well, let’s be completely honest, this isn’t really packing it’s shoving three weeks’ worth of dirty clothes into a suitcase and having my roommate sit on it so I can get it to close.

This time is different; this isn’t the same nostalgic trip down memory lane as when I packed before college. This is the “night before my first trip home frantic pack.” So you get the idea—my plane leaves in two hours, and no, college didn’t teach me to procrastinate. I was experienced in that art long before I stepped onto my college campus.

So now that I’m packed, I have a minute to examine my emotions about my first trip home. I’m excited. My best friend, Matt, picks me up, groggy, for our 4:00 a.m. drive. My expectations are that I am going home to what I left: my parents, home-cooked meals, friends with whom I shared distinctive bonds and my long-distance boyfriend, whom I have been dying to see. I am happy at college, but a trip home, to my family and friends, sounds like just the thing I need to prepare me for the pre-finals crunch.

I think I will catch up on the missed hours of sleep on the plane. Instead, I look around and realize that most of the exhausted passengers are students just like me. Below us, in the cargo bin, sits a year’s worth of dirty laundry at least.
I miss my connecting flight, so I am later than expected. I step off the plane to find my mom frantic, thinking I had been “abducted” on the trip home. I look at her puzzled. I guess in a mother’s eyes there is no logical explanation for being late, such as the obvious flight trouble. I assure her that I am fine and that I don’t need to fly as an “unaccompanied minor” on the way back.
A few hours later, I’m back at the airport, waiting for my boyfriend’s arrival home. He steps off the plane with the same groggy but excited look I wore hours before. We drive over to see my dad, who seems calmer than my mother had been. I ask to see my room, expecting to find my shrine, my old pompoms, prom pictures, candid photos of friends and dolls scattered about. To my surprise, everything is gone; there’s not even a trace I had ever lived in the room. I’m starting to wonder if I really had been abducted on the way home. It’s as if the second I became a “college” student, I had ceased to exist.

I start to wonder what else had changed since I’d been gone. My parents are in an awkward transition, wondering how to treat me now. They wrestle with whether to treat me—still their daughter—as one of them, an adult, or as the child they feel they sent away months earlier.

I run into two of my best friends from high school; we stare blankly at each other. We ask the simple questions and give simple, abrupt answers. It’s as if we have nothing to say to each other. I wonder how things have changed so much in such a small amount of time. We used to laugh and promise that no matter how far away we were, our love for each other would never change. Their interests don’t interest me anymore, and I find myself unable to relate my life to theirs.

I had been so excited to come home, but now I just look at it all and wonder: Is it me?

Why hadn’t the world stood still here while I was gone? My room isn’t the same, my friends and I don’t share the same bond, and my parents don’t know how to treat me—or who I am, for that matter.

I get back to school feeling half-fulfilled, but not disappointed. I sit up in my bed in my dorm room, surrounded by my pictures, dolls and mementos. As I wonder what has happened, I realize that I can’t expect the world to stand still and move forward at the same time. I can’t change and expect that things at home will stay the same. I have to find comfort in what has changed and what is new; keep the memories, but live in the present.
A few weeks later, I’m packing again, this time for winter break. My mom meets me at the curb. I have come home accepting the changes, not only in my surroundings, but most of all in me.